


A Song Is A Weapon

by youcoulddrinkwholemilk



Series: Sing 'Cause You Don't Know How To Say It [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Kinda, M/M, Musician Grantaire, Requited Love, Shmoop, also he's an artist, busker grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:30:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcoulddrinkwholemilk/pseuds/youcoulddrinkwholemilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Busking for extra cash in his pocket,  Grantaire gets a little extra one day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I've got one shot to kill you with a song

It's not something Grantaire does because he needs the money, well he does but that’s why on top of his job he takes commissions; he does it because he likes it. Just as he boxes and dances, though if he were being honest he takes to his cello and paints far better than the other activities. Another reason is Apollo, his beautiful Apollo, who always seems to be in a rush, laden with far too many books and almost always a coffee that ranges in it’s size. 

But his god always stops to watch him play, which might be the reason he still does it. Grantaire supposes he could be picking up a shift to make some real money so he could get a proper flat with reliable electricity and maybe even heating. Would save him a shit-ton of money in candles. 

Grantaire is in fact pondering what horribly scented candle he should but next as he finished his eighth song. When, like clockwork, he can see his Apollo settling on a concrete planter. With his ever-present coffee, today giant, and satchel bag (still looking like it might burst) wearing what Grantaire has assumed is his favourite jacket. The red faded from sun and the cuffs beginning to wear thin. 

Glancing down at his beanie, noting there’s surprisingly a decent amount of coin and even a few bills. He figures he can play something for himself and his Apollo, Grantaire noticed he prefers more of the classical music. Where as before he shows up and Grantaire is playing for the masses. He’s really sick of the Top 40 anyway. 

Grantaire starts to play again, trying very hard not to stare at Apollo, as he lets his fingers take over the song they know so well. He can see the faces some of the other regulars and a few passers-by as they attempt to figure out is they know the song. They don’t, this is one Grantaire has never played outside of his flat, this one he wrote. He really is staring now…so is Apollo though. Grantaire closes his eyes not wanting to see the reaction, afraid for the rejection. Not ready for the rejection before they’ve even properly met. 

The song is slow at the beginning, but powerful, rising in volume towards the middle growing faster, and faster, and faster. Grantaire’s fingers are flying and his head has dropped, his whole body moving. Then it stops and it’s slow and quiet now as it comes to a soft end on a melancholic note.

Not quite opening his eyes, rather peeking through his lashes, he sees his Apollo has left. Grantaire sighs and looks down at his watch, taking note that if he doesn’t go now he’ll be late for his class on Art in Revolutionary France. He packs up his cello, with an air of gentle loving that one could not imagine his paint-stained soul possessed. Lastly he picks up his beanie, fishing the money out. Grantaire shoves the hat over his wild curls and hefts his cello over his back and walking off in the direction of his class. 

Counting his money as he walked, he came across a coffee receipt, almost miffed that someone had litter into his hat until he noticed the sort of messily neat scrawl on the back. 

‘I didn’t have any change on me, and I had to run to make my French Revolution Politics class. But you compose beautifully I’d love to hear it in full (and maybe others) if you permit it. Call me? –Enjolras’

There was a number, and now Grantaire had a name for his Apollo. Also maybe a stupid smile on his face the rest of the day, that may or may not have scared his art class.


	2. You are the bullet in the chamber of the gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras, with a little help from his friends, finally does something.

Enjolras was, to say the least, almost always busy and therefore in a constant state of rushing. Between organizing meetings, rallies and protests, his classes, and his job at the Cafe Musain, he was always doing something. But he'd be damned if he didn't take the time between his morning shift and his class on the Politics of the French Revolution, to watch his music man play. Beside all his friends told him he needed a break and that he should just relax, or in Bahorel's way of putting it 'fuckin' get laid bitch' he had a special type of class.

His Patroclus, not that he fancied himself Achilles (his friends did but they'd never voice that to his face for fear of his wrath).

Marius once voiced his opinion on Napoleon and the rest of the, small in a biggish sort of way, ragtag group of friends decided that none of them wanted Enjolras raging at them for an hour and a half. Marius almost cried, and somehow he ended up apologizing. To this day he still looks on the verge of tears when someone mentions Napoleon near him, glancing nervously around to see if Enjolras was near by. Enjolras did actually tell Marius he was sorry but it didn't seem to help much.

Actually Enjolras flitted between Patroclus and Dionysus, for he could often see the wine on his music man. Despite never actually having witnessed its consumption. Never the less be he Dionysus or Patroclus or Music Man, Enjolras never missed a 'performance'. This led to him being late to class once, which both Combeferre and Courfeyrac drilled him relentlessly later, till he finally confessed why. The problem with never being late to anything in your life and having at times friends who could channel a level of paranoia on par with Joly. 

Gleefully regarding their beloved Achilles both Combeferre and Courfeyrac, and somehow Jehan (who they all just agreed honed in on this sort of thing as easy as breathing) where in a constant state of trying to convince him to do something. Jehan actually wrote a series of poems varying in there themes one was an intense inner battle, one was a lovely sonnet and embarrassingly one was extremely erotic in its nature. When he performed them all to him, with both Combeferre and Coufeyrac present, Enjolras when bright red muttering about 'are half those things even legal'. Courfeyrac came up with a list, which despite Enjolras' insistence that it was emotionally scarring he'd hid it away under his bed. Combeferre may not have actively said much but he just had this look that he'd taken to giving Enjolras.

It took four months of watching music man and a series of deep conversations with himself, along with one hell of a composition, for him to finally act. Listening to him play that song Enjolras was almost certain he'd written himself. Classical music was one of his things, and Enjolras could tell that this was written in the style of it rather than composed at the time. Something snapped. Hastily scrawling on the back of his coffee receipt, Enjolras went to put the it in the hat just as he could feel the song was coming to an end. Before rushing off to class. He just knew his music man would know that it was him...well at least he hoped, he really needed Courfeyrac to stop making him sit through seemingly endless Rom-Com marathons. Also if he was to be really honest, he very much was afraid of the potential rejection. 

Although when he walked in late to his class with a hint of a smile Combeferre and Courfeyrac knew right away. He was glad for their silence, even if Courf looked like he might just burst out into song and start shitting glitter and rainbows. 

And at the meeting when Enjolras actually pulled out his phone (against the strict rule) to read the text and smiled with the brilliance of the sun. Jehan knew too, which also meant by the end of the meeting pretty much the entire Cafe knew. 

'my names grantaire and i'd love too. :) '

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh i did thing :)   
> i swapped the 'do you permit it- permet-tu' bit with enjolras and grantaire because i am a total shmoop/dork   
> and grantaire's smiley face was the part where enjolras smiles at him, but yeah...im a dork. sorry.  
> again i'll enventually come back and edit again but im tired and i have to get up in the morning.   
> thanks for reading :)

**Author's Note:**

> i needed fluff, i read a lot of not fluff and write it too. so yeah thought i'd do something new.  
> also first fanfiction...on here and for les mis.  
> i have too many feels Grantaire wise and Enjolras/Grantaire (whether you have them as a thing or friends or as revolutionaries who don't really get each other till they die together) and i needed to get them out.  
> i'll probably come back and edit this later but ya know tell me if you like it??


End file.
